


Still I Caressed You(Sang You to Sleep)

by missfeministfangirl



Category: Marvel Avengers Movies Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Broken Bones, F/M, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-08
Updated: 2012-08-08
Packaged: 2017-11-11 17:53:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/481236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missfeministfangirl/pseuds/missfeministfangirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>inspired by one of brbshittoavenge’s clintasha headcanons which I saw reblogged by fuckyeahclintnatasha: ” Clint washed Natasha’s hair for her once, early in their partnership. Her hands were bandaged and she couldn’t do it herself. Now he does it for her at least once a week just because he knows she likes it.” Title from I Cried Like  a silly Boy by Devotchka</p>
            </blockquote>





	Still I Caressed You(Sang You to Sleep)

**Author's Note:**

> self betad

"Are you sure?” Clint asked.

“I. Said. Fucking. No.” Natasha answered through gritted teeth. She was currently sitting on one of the ramshackle beds in their cheap hotel room with her knees pulled up to her chest defensively. Her hands lay at her sides wrapped in layers of bandages thanks to their latest mission. One of the thugs they had been chasing had pushed her off a scaffold and like a cat she had landed on all fours which unfortunately in this case meant one broken wrist on one hand and a few broken fingers on the other. Tasha’s had worse and they would heal quickly enough but it did mean that her hands were temporarily out of commission. 

Clint knew that feeling vulnerable was high up on the list of things that Tasha hates with a firey passion. She had confirmed this by spending the last half hour since they got back to the hotel sitting curled up on the bed staring straight ahead of her with a look of intense focused concentration and hatred. Since she wasn’t staring at anything he could only assume that she was trying to intimidate her own body into working again. 

And at some point to break the silence Clint had asked if she wanted to use the shower. It had been a dirty mission full of gravel, grit, ash and broken glass and they both weren’t looking their best. She had remained stoically silent and had only shifted that alarming star to him for a moment. He took the hint and used the shower himself. After he had come back out wearing a white t-shirt and sweatpants he had settled himself on his bed and because he was a persistent idiot asked, 

“Are you sure?”

Which had elicited the previous expletive filled answer. 

At this point most normal people would have left the issue alone knowing that even without her hands there were many ways in which Natasha Romanoff would have been happy to kill them.

Thankfully Clint had always been pleasantly abnormal

So he went into the bathroom and turned the shower on, letting it warm up which got him Tasha’s attention. He stared straight back at her and said,

“If you’re as filthy as I was, you definitely need this. And I know you’re hiding some cuts and scrapes under there and those need to be cleaned and you know it because you’re smart.”

Natasha’s look said: I can’t fucking take a shower without my hands. And that was the crux of it. That was why Tasha had been sitting unmoving for the past hour and a half. She didn’t want to do anything that would require her asking for help. 

Clint came over to stand at the edge of the bed and crossed his arms.

“Can you just…let me do this?”

From anyone else it would have sounded exasperated, almost sarcastic. But from Clint it was a genuine question and if she said no Natasha was sure he would back off; he was persistent but he knew when to stop pushing, he knew when pressure turned into pain and he knew how to apply the former so that it never made it to the latter. But Clint was right (the bastard) she needed to make sure any cuts were clean, wash any particles of glass off of her because even the smallest pieces could be dangerous. And in the end she wasn’t stubborn enough to ignore common sense in favor of pride. 

But she still kind of hated this. If it had been anyone but Clint she would have tried washing herself with her feet before she asked for help. 

She gave Clint a small nod and he helped her up, holding her by the elbow, careful not to touch her hands. He stripped off her clothes quickly and efficiently and then stripped himself down to his underwear which was kind of ridiculous because they had both seen each other naked before but she was guessing this was Clint’s version of chivalry(it was a little sweet). She stepped into the stream of warm water and Clint stepped in behind her.

He lathered up a washcloth, turned her towards him, away from the spray and began at her shoulders working downward. He was clinical and quick, but still thorough, the shape of his hand under the cloth the only thing that was a tease. When he he moved over her shoulders and neck, then her chest, down to her stomach and hips she felt a traitorous heat flood her cheeks, but Clint seemed to remain unaffected. He turned her around to do her back and then knelt on one knee to scrub each of her legs in turn, starting at her thigh and moving all the way down to her feet. She did have a few scrapes on her shins and he made sure they were clean.

Her skin was tingling all over and there was a creeping warmth between her thighs, but it was nothing compared to what came next. He stood behind her and told her to tilt her head back a little while he pulled the hair out of her face. Then he got some shampoo and went to work. He started at the front of her scalp near her forehead: he ran his fingers through her hair gently, kneading the suds into the red strands. It felt amazing and strangely intimate: her eyes were closed against the water and she felt anchored by his hands. He made his way to the back of her head, his thumbs massaging the base of her neck as he worked the lather. As he gently rubbed her scalp she felt all the tension leave her body as though it were being washed down the drain. Eventually Clint washed the suds out of her hair, careful not to get any in her eyes. There was a quiet tension in the air between then as he pressed a quick kiss to her shoulder blade.

But the mood was broken when Clint swiftly brought his hand down to the sides of her stomach and proceeded to tickle her. Natasha yelped but quickly retaliated, elbowing him in the ribs.

“Good to know you’re getting back to your normal self.” He said laughing a little breathlessly. Natasha was glad for the diffusion of tension. As pleasant as Clint’s touch had been there had been something dangerously intimate in it and she was sure that Clint had sensed it. . 

They turned off the water and they both got out to change. As they lay in separate beds that night Natasha remembered the feeling of his fingers in her hair and somehow she slept more easily that night.

It took her a while to ask for it again and when she did they had finally started sleeping together and well, she didn’t really ask. Clint was in the shower at her apartment the morning after some really nice sex and she had been going to give him some space and get breakfast while he cleaned up. But then the she remembered that night and she couldn’t get the thought out of her head. She stripped in the hallway and joined him in the shower, silencing whatever protest or snarky comment he had been about to make by handing him the shampoo. He took the hint without saying anything and Nat relaxed back into his ministrations. She could almost feel his fingers against her scalp for the rest of the day. 

Two week later it was Clint who snuck into the bathroom while Tasha was indulging in the rare luxury of a bath.

“Hey there’s a spider in my bathtub,” he said with a smug little smirk. Tasha pretended to scowl and flicked some water in his face. Clint just laughed and knelt behind her, starting to wash her hair and by the time he was done she had almost fallen asleep in the tub. 

Soon it became a regular thing and at least once every week when they could manage it Natasha would creep into the shower with Clint or vice-versa and he’d wash her hair, scrubbing away the dirt and grime from a day’s avenging. 

And sometimes his hand would linger there afterwards, carding through the damp strands of hair as they lay in bed, the touch promising her that he was there, soothing her to sleep.


End file.
